


Weight of the World

by worderfall



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Cafe Leblanc (Persona 5), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, November 20 Interrogation (Persona 5), One Shot, Panic Attacks, Persona 5 Spoilers, Persona 5: The Royal, Police Brutality, Post-November 20 Interrogation (Persona 5), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worderfall/pseuds/worderfall
Summary: Another one-shot addressing what happens to Akira Kurusu immediately following the events of November 20th, as I imagine them. This is the most glaring gap in the game, and I'm so glad that myself and other writers are filling it!
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Niijima Sae, Amamiya Ren & Sakura Sojiro, Amamiya Ren/Takemi Tae, Kurusu Akira & Niijima Sae, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Sojiro, Kurusu Akira & Takemi Tae, Niijima Sae & Persona 5 Protagonist, Persona 5 Protagonist & Sakura Sojiro, Persona 5 Protagonist/Takemi Tae
Comments: 12
Kudos: 161





	Weight of the World

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a self-indulgent hurt/comfort for myself, and the first thing I'm posting here. This is the most I've enjoyed writing in a few years. If only I could manage to write twelve pages between 10pm and 4am while I was in college! That all being said, I do hope someone finds this and enjoys.

The welcoming, mingling aroma of coffee grinds and stewing curry wafted over Akira as if they were memories of a time since passed. Ginger, garam masala, garlic, maybe a hint honey...and the fruity nuttiness brewing along with a hum at the bar might be the Colombian Narino blend...? If he were more alert, Akira would have known for sure.

Beyond that, the room was also warm; a change from the bone-chilling drizzle which Akira knew he needed. However, he didn’t realize how frigid he felt until he began to shiver at crossing Café Leblanc’s threshold. The sudden contraction of his muscles solicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat. Injuries sustained over the last...several hours, at least...while in police custody reasserted themselves with force. The cramping pain that would shoot from his left calf up and down the rest of his leg at the slightest suggestion of a burden, gnawing pain throughout his protesting ribcage, soreness and bruising up his arms, wrists rubbed raw from struggling against cutting metal, a dull dripping from his forehead, and the frustrating sluggishness of his thoughts would have all committed him to the ground if it were not for Detective Nijima holding Akira up.

A new presence at his side was further cause for Akira to flinch. It grabbed for the arm not being propped up by Sae, and Akira’s head snapped in that direction more fearfully than he’d like to acknowledge. There, though, he only saw Sojiro’s face, furrowed with incredulous concern.

“You look like hell, kid,” Sojiro sighed with exasperation as he coordinated with Sae to ease Akira into a booth, “What on earth happened to you?!”

_____

It seemed like only moments earlier when Sojiro had been caught up in the monotony of his usual routine of cleaning dishes as food cooked and he waited for a stray customer to wander in from the cold. Then, abruptly, drone of the news channel he normally kept on the café's hanging tube television was overtaken by the alert of breaking news flashing across the screen:

The leader of the sensational Phantom Thieves of Hearts had committed suicide in police custody.

In hindsight, it was extreme luck that no patrons were in the shop at the time of the announcement, as Sojiro found it impossible to hide his shock. The soaped pan he had been holding clattered and rolled across the wooden floor, and admonitions of grief tried and failed to form on his lips. Sojiro knew something big had been planned for some time. His children and their friends—the Phantom Thieves—had been requesting to meet in Café Leblanc more and more frequently. Their conversations grew more muted and serious, far from the gregarious nature which Sojiro had grown used to and found refreshing from what used to be his closed-off life. Before Akira had left for school yesterday morning, he dwelled over his mug longer than usual. Sojiro should have said something; in fact, he knew that the moment his charge’s usual curfew came and went without him obediently returning for the first time. From there, all he could do was hope against the adamant gnawing in his stomach that all was well. 

That is, until came the breaking news.

It was in this frozen, terrified state that Sojiro’s racing thoughts had been halted by the jingle of his door opening. He whirled around to deliver a curt excuse about the shop closing early. His growl grew even angrier when he recognized the detective who had been harassing him and his newly affirmed family, threatening him for her own personal gain. Just standing there!

Something was off, though. Sae hardly expected a warm reception, given everything she had just realized, and her face fell when she also took notice of the urgent newscast and hurried reports. If wildly inaccurate, they were at least enthusiastic. Meeting Sojiro’s hostility, she held up a halting hand to get her message across.

“He’s alive. My car, out back. Help me get him inside.”

_____

While Akira painfully settled into a seat, he could vaguely make out the seemingly far-away conversation being carried out in hushed tones. Arrest. Custody. Torture. Drugs. Confession. Plots. Escape. Any attempt at focus shot sharp pains through his skull. To hold steady, Akira’s eyes wandered across the tabletop’s weaving grains and to the bent, hastily closed blind slats until a finality in Sae’s tone recaptured his attention.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. Akira,” Sae knelt down so their expressions could meet, and Akira’s eyes glinted in recognition, “Everything will be alright. I’m going to make sure of it. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, and for Japan. Truly, we don’t deserve it.”

Akira nodded slowly, the muscles around his lip and under his eyes suddenly quivering with emotion as reality flooded back into his consciousness. He swallowed it and mustered as much coyness as he could, “All in a day’s work.”

Sae gently smirked back, “Sojiro has you now. Just get some rest. I’m sure we’ll be in-touch soon.”

With that, the detective turned swiftly and exited into the waning November afternoon. Akira was left sitting in a ringing silence, punctuated only by the sounds of low dripping and sizzling coming from the kitchen. At some points, he thought he may never get to be in this place again, yet here it was in all its glorious simplicity.

Sojiro didn’t take long before breaking through the whirlwind of everything which had changed and then changed again in the past moments. He studied the pathetic-looking figure hunched in his booth: a husk of the cavalier air he had grown accustomed to. The kid obviously needed help, and it was more than he could provide. But that couldn’t be changed, not now.

“Here, you haven’t eaten, have you? How about I get you some food?” Sojiro searched Akira’s posture for a response, a show of alertness, anything. The now-tattered Shujin Academy uniform seemingly did next to nothing to stop Akira from becoming soaked to the bone in the weather. And those injuries...while Nijima had given him a rundown, Sojiro felt sure there were more.

Unaware he was being assessed, the thief took a moment to parse through the hierophant's words. Some of the tension in his body released at the tentative acceptance of safety, and he muttered back, “Y-yeah. Colombian Narino again?”

Guessing the brew still, even after everything he had been through? Sojiro chuckled despite himself, though the laughter was devoid of warmth or enjoyment, “Yeah, kid, Colombian Narino. I’ll get that for you. Think you can clean yourself up? You’ll make a mess in here.”

“Okay, Boss.” Akira agreed. But the store’s tight customer bathroom seemed kilometers away with his clean, dry clothes in the attic being the summit of Mt. Fuji. He did appreciate Sojiro's attempt at keeping things light. If it weren’t for that, he might just succumb to the pounding terror in his gut. He really could have died...maybe, he still could. That fear couldn’t catch up now, not after making it this far. The worst should be over. No need to break now.

“Here. Let’s get you over there. I’ll get a change of clothes and a towel for you,” Sojiro offered, as if reading part of the boy's mind. He jogged upstairs to fetch Akira's things, easily enough rooting through the shelves to find what he needed. Upon returning downstairs, Sojiro reached over and pulled—or lifted—the boy to standing and eased him to the other side of the store. As hard as Sojiro tried to be careful, everywhere he gripped to provide steadiness was met with a quiet hiss or gasp. How could they treat a minor like this?! A terrorist or criminal, sure, but anything Akira had done would be a fraction of all the evil the government themselves had perpetuated in this godforsaken country. Managing to steady both his anger and his charge, barely, Sojiro got him the rest of the way to their destination.

“I know we can’t take you to a hospital, but...geez kid, we’ve gotta do something about you,” Sojiro shook his head with a grunt.

“T-Takemi,” Akira thought aloud after a moment. The last thing he wanted was for anybody else to see him like this. He just wanted to eat a plate of warm food and let sleep wash away the agony. Everything hurt. At the same time, that was he knew Sojiro was right, as much as he wanted to mock that he was fine. Noticing that Sojiro remained skeptical, he continued, “Dr. Takemi, here in Shibuya. She knows.”

Sojiro head dipped pensively, trying to piece together the implications of what Akira had just said. How many others knew about his identity, that he was a Phantom Thief? What would they do after seeing the news? Now that he thought about it, though, this doctor had visited the café every so often. If it weren’t for her speaking with his other local patrons, he wouldn’t have known she was a doctor at all, at least based on how she dressed. But Akira trusting her had to be good enough, it had to be; he couldn’t exactly afford to be picky if he was going to get the kid medical attention beyond the basics he knew.

“Alright,” he acquiesced, “If you’re sure, I’ll look up Dr. Takemi. You’ve got this?”

“I can,” Akira confirmed, wincing as he tried to stand up a little straighter. He understood Sojiro’s hesitation to leave him be but knew he could manage somehow. Gravity was the least of his enemies now. He pressed, “I’ve got this.”

Once assured that Akira could keep his balance enough to give himself a rudimentary wash-up, Sojiro quietly closed the bathroom door and turned his attention to ladling out a heaping plate of curry. The sauce oozed lazily over the rice, with spiced steam wafting about. It had come out as perfectly as Wakaba would have made, but Sojiro failed to notice. With that done, he dug out and dusted off the phone book from the back of the pantry and began flipping through. Luckily, it wasn’t too outdated to have the name and number of who Akira mentioned. Taking a nervous breath, he dialed the bright yellow phone accordingly.

To his relief, after several rings, the call was picked up by an unenthused woman identifying herself as Dr. Takemi. At least he wouldn’t have to try to explain himself and his urgency to some secretary.

“I’m closing the clinic early today,” Takemi flatly warned before Sojiro could get a word in, “Personal emergency. If it can’t wait, please contact the hospital-”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Sojiro interrupted before she could hang up, but he instantly worried that he overstepped, so he earnestly corrected himself, “Please. This is Sojiro Sakura from Café Leblanc. You...know Akira?”

If he was worried he had said too much, or not enough, that was alleviated as soon as Takemi’s tone shifted to one of acute attention, “Akira? Isn’t he...what’s going on?”

“Could you...can you help him? He’s taken a beating, you know,” Sojiro postured. Seriously, how did this kid meet these people?

Rustling was heard on the other end of the phone, “Café Leblanc? I’ll be over as soon as I can get a bag together.”

Before Sojiro could even thank her, the call clicked off. By then, he figured he should check on Akira. He had kept an ear out for any thuds, but it would still be prudent to make sure. Just as his hand reached the bathroom’s doorknob, however, it was softly pushed open. Truthfully, Sojiro couldn’t decide if the boy looked any better or not. If anything, the blotches of bruised skin stood out even more after being wiped clean. It didn’t help that Akira’s skin was drained to near-whiteness, probably because of the pain, hunger, and fatigue. But still, he had managed to change into the black long-sleeved shirt and thick, olive sweatpants Sojiro had gotten. At least that had to be more comfortable than the school clothes discarded on the floor.

“Dr. Takemi will be over soon,” Sojiro informed as he gestured over to the steaming plate and glass of water set at the nearest table, “Still hungry? No caffeine for you, though. Don’t want you getting too lively on me.”

“I'm dead, remember?” Akira returned with a flat croak. His throat was really that dry? Finally, he appreciated just how much he needed sustenance. Though it was all he could do to preserve the dignity of dressing himself, he barely needed any assistance from Sojiro to limp way to the waiting booth. His hands shook, but Akira managed to down the glass of water and steadily begin spooning the fragrant meal he had become so accustomed to up to his mouth with a renewed fervor.

In the meantime, Sojiro silently sat across from his charge, admittedly his adopted son at this point, with elbows on the table and hands clasped together in thought. As he saw Akira’s pace began to slow, he asked aloud to both his kid and himself, “What happened to you? How did it come to this? It—this—never should have been where you ended up. If there was anything I could have done...”

As Sojiro trailed off, Akira rested his spoon back on the plate. He didn’t want his voice to quiver, but it did anyways. In fact, he couldn’t even bring himself to look up: “I’m sorry. I—I'm sorry.”

For what, Akira wondered? For continuing as the leader of the Phantom Thieves for all this time? For his friends, including Sojiro’s own daughter, being in just as much danger while they pulled off this operation? Sojiro’s daughter, the café, Alibaba’s bugs. Surely, Futaba would have been listening in this whole time. At least he didn’t see Morgana anywhere, but he would probably be with Futaba, too. Ashamed, Akira simply turned his attention back to idly scraping his plate. Realizing that the unshakeable, confident façade was finally breaking, Sojiro looked up and laid a reassuring hand on the side of Akira’s arm. Of course, he was careful not to disturb the soreness clearly present under the sleeve, and he was grateful to see that, this time, Akira didn’t wince at the touch.

“No, that’s enough of that. Look, you’re safe. We’ll talk about the rest later.” Sojiro tried his best to be reassuring, to return the same support this apparent delinquent had given to rebuild his whole family. But before he could muster up any more of it, they both heard a rapping knock at the door.

“I’ve got it,” Sojiro stood up protectively and strode to the door and peeked through the blinds. Thankfully, it was the back-alley doctor he had spoken to over the phone. Cracking open the door, he ushered her inside.

Takemi hardly even acknowledged Leblanc’s owner as she strode across the shop towards her test subject—though, he had been promoted to a full-on patient at this point. Relief rushed through her as she realized that Akira was, indeed, alive, but the celebration was non-existent as her gaze immediately began a preliminary assessment of his injuries.

“What have you gotten yourself into, guinea pig?” Tae teased, though her poise was quiet and entirely serious.

With the warm food finally settling, the grogginess from his exhaustion and his ordeal only granted Akira the resolve for a short response: “Exams.”

Tae shook her head with a huff. Somehow, he was still cocky as ever. That was at least something. Finally, she looked to Sojiro, “Do you know what happened to him?”

Nervously running a hand behind his head Sojiro did his best to recall the information Nijima had dumped before rushing off to her own portion of damage control, “Well, he’s been in police custody for almost the last twenty-four hours. They really...didn’t hold back. Drugged him with something, too. Truth serum, as if I know what the heck that means.”

Ignoring Sojiro’s helpless shrug, Tae began to mentally evaluate the information she would need to get from this exam. After a tense pause, she readied herself.

“Okay. First thing’s first, though,” she took care to speak to both Sojiro and Akira, “Let’s get you lying down. He has a bed here, right?”

“Upstairs,” Sojiro confirmed. Though the attic seemed convenient up until this point, it would be no easy feat to get Akira up the stairs without doing any more damage.

“Alright, then. The three of us together can make it work,” Takemi took it in-stride with no more than a tight grimace. The sooner she could see exactly what she was dealing with, the better.

Enlisting Sojiro’s help and Akira’s cooperation, they moved him slowly but steadily up the narrow staircase. The fog of everyone’s breath seeped from their labored breathing as they reached his bed. As soon as Akira was able to rest on the futon’s mattress, Sojiro embarrassingly plugged in the space heater he brought over a few weeks before and dragged it closer. The April afternoon that he relegated Akira to this previously abandoned space without much thought seemed like an eternity ago. Since then, it had been dusted, decluttered, and adorned with posters, figurines, and knickknacks from around the city. Really, Sojiro hadn’t so much as poked his head up the stairs after Akira moved in. Everything this kid touched seemed to be improved, no matter how decrepit the state it started in. Hopefully he could pull off that same miracle for himself.

Sojiro’s thoughts were once again interrupted by Akira’s grunts of pain as the doctor lowered him onto his back, somewhat propped up by the bed’s pillow. His muscles felt as if they were screaming and gnashing as they struggled to adjust to the relaxed position and shift of weight. Akira only felt his entire body throbbing and fit to burst.

Sojiro tried to move over to help, but Takemi intercepted him with practiced professionalism, “I need to look him over. If you can give him some privacy, I’ll come for you as soon as I’m done.”

“S-Sure,” Sojiro mustered, somewhat taken aback. As much as he wanted to stay, to not lose sight of his son, he knew the doctor was right. He offered one last bit of assurance before turning back down the stairs, “I’ll be close by, kid. Just say so if you need anything.”

With the fog beginning to recede past the horizons of his vision and his breathing returning to more regular pants, Akira managed to grunt in affirmation before Sojiro left. It would be so easy to drift off now, even with how intensely and uniquely different areas of him ached. Takemi saw this and disallowed it with a bedside manner he wasn’t used to, “Not yet, guinea pig. I need to figure out what’s going on so I can give you something for the pain. Can you stay awake for me?”

“Mmhm,” Akira moaned in acceptance. The sooner this could all be over, the better. He didn’t want to think about what bad shape he was in. As Takemi worked her way through her exam, each portion reminded him of his ordeal in the interrogation room in renewed detail. His head slamming against the concrete, skin splitting open and a deafening ringing. Barely being able to follow the trail of a light and the finger she traced in front of his eyes. Track marks radiating from bruises where he had been forcibly injected with what he could only imagine was a more prolonged solution of suffering. A steel-toe boot jamming into his chest and stomach, resulting in cracks that he felt much more than he heard. The sole of another shoe smashing into his leg as a retaliation for his wordless refusal to give in and confess. Gritting his teeth and turning his head towards the window was all Akira could do to bear reliving it.

Relatively speaking, Tae fared better, but that is not to say that seeing the abuse he suffered didn’t affect her. Thankfully, none of the wounds needed stitches, but that was about all she could say was “good.” At least, she could also be grateful her patient remained placid as she cleaned and bandaged the contusion on his forehead, red-raw wrists, and the injection sites. As far as his leg and ribs, Akira would need x-rays performed, though that would certainly have to wait until tomorrow, or whenever he could walk the block to her clinic. The swelling would have to go down before any bindings could be applied, anyways. Tae made a mental note to ask Sojiro for ice for compresses when he returned.

This doctor prides herself on retaining neutrality, no matter how grim the diagnosis, but the anger of having to clean and bandage the fruits of the police’s treatment herself had her stringing curses under her breath. Those bastards were lucky they didn’t do any worse, or they’d have more than just the rest of the Phantom Thieves to answer to.

“Alright, guinea pig,” Tae sighed as she finished her handiwork and pulled the thick comforter partially up, “Just one more thing. I just need to take a small blood sample to figure out what’s going on in there. Nothing you’re not used to, right?”

Though Akira numbly agreed to what Tae said she needed as he always had, his demeanor hardened once he recognized the needle and syringe being prepared in her hands. When she approached the crook of his closer elbow with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, he pulled back, “No. Tae, please,” Akira realized he was begging, and had done his best to fortify his voice to sound more firm than fearful, “I’ll be alright.”

Her shoulders sagged. It seemed cruel to put him through anything else, to have him relive even the briefest moment of the trauma he had endured. But this “truth serum,” or whatever it was, could be anything. Even if she forewent prescribing any medications to ease Akira’s recovery, it was still imperative for Tae to identify the drugs coursing through his system. She knew she couldn’t relent, and as gingerly as possible, Tae held Akira’s wrist and re-extended his arm. She became reassured that, though he resisted, he didn’t fight as she sanitized the square of skin where she spotted a vein bulging forth. She tried to coax her patient, but for once, needed to feign her confidence, “Here. You’ll barely feel it, I’ll make sure of that. Then we can let you rest.”

Reluctantly, Akira rolled his head away to rest on the other side of his pillow. Takemi then resumed, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her hand lower to his skin, aimed at a spot between the weaving umber lines extending around it. He knew better than to be afraid of something as insignificant as this, he understood that it would only help, and he trusted Tae and Sojiro. Despite all of this, though, and all his determination to grin and bear the near-impossible role he had been dealt in this unfair game, Akira felt his arm yank away, slipping from Tae's lax grip. His hands covered his face to catch excruciating, booming sobs. Underneath, he could feel tears breaking over his lower eyelids and slipping down his cheeks, and he pressed his palms downward to dry them before Tae would see. Nobody could see. This is what he had to do, to shoulder his team’s plan not just for his own future, but for theirs. Despite all he had endured and overcome, all Akira felt in this moment was the despair of failure. The secretly living Phantom Thief wasn’t even strong enough to suck up a routine blood test.

Sojiro had alternated between sitting and pacing, nursing a cup of coffee that had gone cold and full. When he heard shouts from upstairs, though, he immediately bounded back into the attic. To hell if the doctor hadn’t called him yet: if more harm came to his boy, he would never be able to forgive himself or face Futaba—or Wakaba, for that matter—ever again.

“Takemi! What’s going on?” Sojiro shouted without fully meaning to; none of his energy was anger but worry. Seemingly, it was for good reason, too. Akira was laying on his back, somewhat in a fetal position. Crying.

Takemi turned her head in surprise to see him, valiantly trying but failing to hide the panic flickering behind her eyes, “Can you help me? I need to take blood to determine what he was drugged with. But...” As she trailed off, Sojiro had made his way to be next to her at Akira’s bedside. Well, no shit he didn’t want more needles stuck in him. They would have to negotiate it, though. Damn it.

Trying to provide some comfort—shit, why him, when he was always so bad at this type of thing—Sojiro laid a hand on Akira’s quaking shoulder and spoke softly, “Hey, son. It’s alright. We’re here. Nothing bad will so much as even lay a finger on you while that’s the case. Here,” dejectedly, Sojiro pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into Akira’s hands.

“Now Boss is here, great,” Akira lamented, trying to still his catching breath and pull himself back together. Where was that rebel spirit that had started it all in the first place? The moment of breaking free of society’s chains and ripping off the mask for all to see his true, unrelenting self might as well have been another person entirely. Certainly, it couldn’t be this sniveling, broken pile he had been reduced to. Feeling the cloth at the edge of his fingers, Akira took it and wiped his eyes. His ragged heaving only sent more pain stabbing through his torso and around his back. Intermittently gasping, he focused on the ceiling beams and the partially glowing star stickers spaced intermittently across them. This seemed childish: crying and trembling while taking comfort in his room and the nearby adults. But the more Akira indulged, the better he felt. Without that last bit of pride, he felt stripped bare, flayed to the bone, but as agonizing as that was, it was an improvement.

Gathering the guts to turn his gaze back to Tae and Sojiro, Akira breathily tried to explain himself, “I--I... That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.

Sojiro shook his head and ruffled Akira’s shaggy hair as roughly as he dared, “Geez. Stop apologizing already. I should be saying that to you,” he hesitated, before looking to Takemi and adding, “Let’s get you through this one last thing, okay, kid?”

Exhaling, Tae took her cue and subtly replaced the syringe needle between her fingertips, looking at Akira’s face which was once again rendered blank, whispering, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Instead of facing the wall this time, Akira focused to his left. The model swan boat, king piece, ramen bowl, hero figurine, giant spatula, gi-nyant doll, kumade, to name a few...they were all from times Akira enjoyed his friends’ company and truly believed he belonged. He quickly shifted his gaze downward, though, when he felt hands rest over each his upper and lower arm to secure. Seeing that his preventative movement returned Akira to what was happening, Sojiro spoke up as a distraction, “Almost done, kid. You’ve got quite the setup going here, huh? You should’ve seen my room when I was your age...hoo boy, what a mess.”

And just like that, Takemi was already placing one last roll of gauze around where she had drawn the blood. Holding up her sample’s vial to make sure it had the integrity she needed, the doctor nodded shortly to herself before beginning to pack up the contents of her medical bag.

“Once again, you passed with flying colors, guinea pig,” she soothed absentmindedly. Turning to Sojiro, she handed him a small bottle and instructed intently, “These are some painkillers. I’ll run his blood immediately and call you once I know it’s safe to give him those. No more than two every six hours, and he should take them with a small amount of food, if he can. Make sure to place cold compresses on his leg and ribs. One hour on, one hour off should start to reduce the inflammation. I’ll be back in the morning for another check-up, but you are to call me earlier if you need.”

Once Takemi had finished conveying her instructions, Sojiro relaxed his posture with a smooth confidence, “Thanks, doc. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on him. And thank you.”

“Free of charge,” Takemi smiled wryly. Without another word, she let herself out, and Sojiro and Akira were once again alone in Café Leblanc. At least, seemingly so.

_____

After a moment, Akira spoke up, “Tell Futaba and the others that I’m fine. I just...I just need some time.”

“Right,” Sojiro understood the hesitation. After all, it had been all Akira could do to let himself be vulnerable around him, and it could only get more difficult with peers, no matter how trusted they were. He grabbed a spare blanket from the storage shelf in by the stairs and settled on the rickety sofa. It would be a long night, but one he was glad to endure if the alternative was Akira being killed. He propped himself up on an elbow and took a position of watch, “I’m not leaving you here alone, though. I’ll let Futaba know that you’re safe, but I’m spending the night here. Just holler over to that couch of yours if you need anything, you hear?”

Meeting Sojiro’s eyes, Akira agreed wordlessly, too drained and speechless to express anything further. Secretly, he felt grateful that he wouldn’t be on his own. Practically since he moved in, most nights Morgana was even by his side. Plus, whenever he closed his eyes, he needed to convince himself that it wasn’t a concrete interrogation cell that surrounded him, but his home and safety. As self-conscious as it made him feel to have Sojiro watching over him, Akira finally felt like he could lay back and slip over the threshold of awareness and hurt to peace and sleep, if only for a little while. As far as what the morning would bring, he had no idea: more visits from Takemi, an update from Sae, or maybe word from the rest of the Phantom Theives. But for once, at least as sleep finally pursued and his discomfort gradually floated away, the uncertainty was quelled. At least right now, the Joker didn’t feel like he was taking the burden of the World alone.


End file.
